


Taking Direction

by chemicaldefect, ThornyHedge



Category: Real Person Fiction, The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit (2012) RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Roleplay, method acting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 18:07:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemicaldefect/pseuds/chemicaldefect, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThornyHedge/pseuds/ThornyHedge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard lets Thorin take control. Dean doesn't mind at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Direction

**Author's Note:**

> Dean written by ThornyHedge
> 
> Richard (and Thorin) written by chemicaldefect

A collective groan arose from the cast as they reset the scene for the twentieth take. At this stage in filming, none of them were strangers to Peter’s obsessive need to see as many permutations of a scene as possible, but they’d been at it all day, laden with the heavy weight of their dwarves’ costumes under the hot lights of the soundstage. 

Richard very rarely complained, thrilled as he was to be a part of one of his favorite stories, but after spending nearly fourteen hours as his surly counterpart even he was starting to crack around the edges. He was sure his frustration was beginning to show; his costars had been giving him a wide berth this last hour of the day. He made it his mission to pinpoint whatever missing spark Peter was looking for in the scene. 

Replaying the last few takes in his head, he narrowed in on a potential solution.

“Dean,” Thorin’s deep, commanding voice boomed across the set. “Can I speak to you for a minute?”

 _Oh, Christ,_ Dean thought to himself. The last thing he wanted was to be singled out by Richard. He was, and always would be, the newest member of the company. Even now, three months after his arrival, he often still felt as nervous as he did on his first day. That is, unless he was alone with Richard.

But right now, Richard wasn’t his lover. He was I’m-A-Method-Actor-So-Don’t-Question-Me Man. It was exasperating. And nine times out of ten—so it looked like he wasn’t playing favorites—he’d turn his critical eye on Dean.

Still, Dean set his shoulders and managed a small smile. “Sure, Rich,” he replied casually, lifting the bulk of his blond wig off his neck and wiping the sweat away with a towel. “What’s on your mind?” 

Richard was pretty sure that Thorin wouldn’t swoon at the sight of Dean O’Gorman’s dimples, so he suppressed the urge to smile fondly and maintained Thorin’s cool exterior. 

“The last few takes, once the fight begins, you’ve been charging at the pack of orcs on the right.” Dean raised an eyebrow expectantly. “Forget what the marks say. This time go left.”

“You want me to ignore Peter’s direction?” Dean bit his lip nervously, not wanting to upset Jackson.

“Peter clearly isn’t sure what he wants with this one. We could be here all night.” A small part of Richard that wasn’t playing Thorin right now understood the younger man’s uncertainty. But he knew that he was right. “Kili and Bilbo are both on your left. Right now you’re on your own, the fight’s impersonal. Go left, fight for your brother and your friend.” 

_It probably would be a good idea to run this by Peter first,_ Richard mused, but Thorin’s impatience kept him silent.

As always, Richard had a point. But it wasn't so much the words he was saying, or the idea he was conveying, but the _way_ in which he was speaking that had Dean suddenly feeling a need to adjust his trousers. He might've been Richard offering blocking advice, but he was speaking as if he were Thorin orchestrating a skirmish. And it was hot a fucking hell. Dean still hadn’t figured out if Richard knew what that tone did to him.

Dean swallowed with an audible click. “Okay, Thor—um, Richard,” he stammered. “I’ll give it a shot.”

“Good lad.” Richard clapped Dean on the shoulder with the whisper of a smile, brows still stern and pensive as always when he was in character. Something akin to pride crowed in his chest, seeing the younger actor – and Thorin’s nephew – take this risk for him. He couldn’t deny it also set his pulse racing in a decidedly non-familial way, having Dean so readily follow his orders. If the blush high on Dean’s cheekbones was anything to go by, he was similarly affected.

Before turning back to the scene, Richard fixed Dean with an intense stare.

“Make me proud.”

 _What the fuck did I just agree to?_ Dean patted sweat from his forehead as the actors took their places to run the scene. _And more importantly, why?_ Then he remembered the decisive rumbling voice and penetrating blue eyes. The hand on his shoulder that he felt in his leaping dick.

“You all right there, Fili?” Aidan asked him with a knowing grin. “What’s he making you do this time?”

“Fuck you, Kili,” Dean hoisted his swords in both hands, “and enjoy the ride!”

When Peter called for action, Dean took a deep breath and followed Richard’s blocking instructions to the letter. The orc actors were a bit taken aback, but quickly went with it. _Well,_ Dean thought above the thudding of weaponry and hurled Khuzdul insults, _Peter’s going to love this, or he’s going to send me packing._

Caught up once again in Thorin, Richard could only watch Fili out of the corner of his eyes as he marched into the fray to fight alongside his brother. The sight of Fili ferociously protecting Kili, Dean swinging twin swords in practiced hands, sent another pang of lust shooting through Richard’s gut. He ignored it and focused on Thorin’s rage in the scene, distantly pleased that Peter hadn’t yelled cut.

In the end, Peter was shocked but ultimately happy with the change. He made them shoot it a few more times with the new blocking before he was completely satisfied, but they were able wrap for the day much sooner than they would have otherwise. When Peter drew Dean off to the side to have a few words, a small part of Richard felt guilty for putting him in the awkward position.

As Thorin hadn’t quite left his system, however, he simply regarded the exchange with a smug, amused smile.

Peter only spoke to Dean for a moment or so, after which Dean approached Richard. “He loved it,” Dean shrugged, slipping his swords into their sheaths. “I let him think it was all my idea though. Hope you don’t mind,” he smiled flirtatiously. “New kid on the block, and all that.”

Dean’s heart was thudding like a kettle drum. He’d been terrified Peter was going to ream him a new one. The relief was so strong, his knees were trembling. 

Richard didn’t mind at all, but Thorin couldn’t resist toying with Dean a little bit. The blond was clearly nervous.

“And if I did mind?” He tilted his head to the side, blue eyes flashing.

Dean’s stomach did a little flip. “Then, let it be penance for putting my acting career on the line,” he smiled. Thorin was looking especially self-satisfied, and it was terribly hot. _Richard,_ Dean corrected himself. _Richard_ was looking terribly, terribly hot.

Dean cleared his throat. “So, tonight…” he began.

Thorin smiled slowly. The blond’s blue eyes were heated and he fidgeted uncomfortably. Thorin enjoyed watching him squirm and, Richard noted, he wasn’t entirely opposed to the sight himself. Maybe Thorin could share his brain a bit longer this evening.

“Yes, tonight.” Richard’s eyes roamed Dean’s body from head to toe. “My place?”

"Is that an order?" Dean wondered.

Richard leaned in close, towering over Dean’s shorter frame.

“You’ll know when I give you an order,” he breathed hotly into Dean’s ear, tugging the lobe briefly between his teeth.

Dean’s already weak knees threatened to give way under Richard’s subtle oral assault. The smell of leather, metal and sweat was strong in the air and Richard was simply exuding confidence. Dean wanted nothing more than to bare his neck to Richard’s alpha-ness and beg to be taken.

But he had a feeling Richard had different plans in mind. He always did. Dean had to settle for flashing Richard a subtle smile and flipping his mane of hair suggestively as he sauntered towards the make-up trailers.

Richard watched him go, jaw clenching at the sight of Dean’s swaying hips, clearly exaggerated for effect. His mind – or, more accurately, Thorin’s – was already churning out plans for the evening.

Richard had never been more glad to have the strong-willed dwarf in his head.

***

Reclining on the sofa, Richard stared straight ahead into the dark, waiting for Dean to arrive. He had opted not to wear Thorin’s bulky costume and wig for the evening, afraid that they would prove more of a hindrance to their bedroom activities than an aid. To compensate, he now sat quietly, letting Thorin’s persona fire across his synapses, overtaking his neurons. He had to be convincing if this was going to work.

Dean showed up right on time, rapping four times on the door—as he always did to signal his arrival—before entering Richard’s trailer. “Hello?” Dean opened the front door slowly, peering into the darkness. “Rich?”

Part of Richard wanted to jump up from the couch and greet Dean with a kiss, as was their usual custom. But Thorin’s resolve kept him in his seat. When he spoke, it was in Thorin’s strong, confident baritone.

“Come in. Close the door behind you.”

“Oh good,” Richard could hear the relief in Dean’s voice. “You _are_ here.” He entered, closing the door softly behind him. In the very dim light, Richard could make out that Dean was wearing black—black jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt. He knew it made him look even smaller and more vulnerable, and that Richard had a love of the color. “Why are you sitting around in the dark?” he wondered, slowly walking towards the sound of Richard’s voice.

Richard smiled, even though Dean couldn’t see it in the dark, and ignored the question. He could just make out the snug fit of Dean’s black jeans – his favorite – and his grin turned almost feral.

“The lamp behind you, turn it on.” He kept his tone even, forceful.

Dean turned around uncertainly, hands outstretched in front of him, feeling about carefully to avoid knocking anything over. His fingers closed on the lamp and he worked a hand down to find the knob and twist it to the right. He winced as the light came on, pupils shrinking rapidly.

Richard smirked at Dean’s fumbling attempts to turn on the light. The blond blinked in confusion when the bulb clicked on. Richard would have found it adorable; Thorin just felt a surge in his predatory hunger.

He raised an eyebrow when Dean failed to conceal his look of disappointment at finding him in Richard’s typical street clothes instead of Thorin’s costume. It didn’t offend him. It only increased his determination to prove to Dean that he didn’t need armor to be in charge.

“Go to the bedroom and stand at the foot of the bed. I’ll join you shortly.”

Dean began to question, but was quickly cowed by the piercing look in his eyes. He turned on his heels and went into Richard’s bedroom and waited for the handsome Brit to follow.

Richard was in no rush. He rose leisurely from the couch and stretched like a proud jungle cat, stalking gracefully towards the bedroom. He paused in the kitchenette and, rather more loudly than necessary, got a cup out of the cabinet and turned on the tap. He took his time finishing the glass of water. There was a nervous rustle of fabric from the bedroom, prompting Richard to chuckle into his drink. 

Slowly, he entered the small bedroom area, pleased to find Dean waiting for him obediently – albeit restlessly – at the foot of the bed. He sat down directly in front of him and leaned back on his palms, tilting his head to the side as he studied Dean thoughtfully.

Since the day he arrived on set, Dean had felt scrutinized, so the sensation wasn’t a new one. It was, however, awkward to be alone with Richard and still feel that way. He thought he’d gotten over all his nervousness with the veteran actor, but apparently he was mistaken.

“R-Richard?” he asked tentatively after several moments of uncomfortable silence. “Is something wrong?”

Even through Thorin’s haze of lust, Richard could see that Dean was uncomfortable. Unacceptable. While he wanted to keep the blond on his toes, he also wanted him to have a good time. 

“Just deciding what to do with you.” He didn’t smile, because Thorin wouldn’t, but he did allow the fierce look in his eyes to soften. He rose from the bed and laid a strong hand on Dean’s shoulder, circling his body until he stood behind him. He kissed the hollow behind Dean’s ear. “Strip, and then get on the bed.”

Dean didn’t need to be told twice. The tension of filming was still evident in the tightness he felt in his chest and shoulders. He had come to rely heavily on these encounters with Richard. They helped alleviate his stress much better than any drug could. He loved Richard—even though he hadn’t quite come out and told him yet—and wasn’t about to do anything to make him believe otherwise.

Dean quickly unbuttoned his shirt and peeled the garment away, then made quick work of his jeans and boxers, kicking them into the corner. Still in his socks, he crawled into the center of the bed and lay on his back, propped up on both elbows, expectant and shivering.

It took all of Richard’s willpower not to drop the act and pounce on Dean immediately. He looked irresistible, laid out on the bed for Richard’s hungry gaze, pale skin flushed from both arousal and slight embarrassment at being put on display. Thorin resisted, somehow, knowing that the wait would be worth it in the end. He knelt at the foot of the bed and sat back on his haunches, never taking his eyes off of Dean.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded hoarsely, voice rough like gravel.

Dean, momentarily surprised, was slow to react. He felt mesmerized by Richard’s gaze and voice. Slowly, he brought his left hand to his mouth and blew a slow huff of air on it to warm it. Smiling shyly at the embarrassment the old habit caused him, he ran the hand over his lips, down his chest, circling a nipple, along the trail of golden hair leading to his cock, already coming to life at the sound of Thorin’s voice.

Eyes locked with Richard’s, he began stroking himself, pretending the hand on his cock was Thorin’s, stroking him from behind as his hot breath whispered filthy words in his ear. He could practically feel Thorin’s long hair tickling his shoulder. The notion had him dripping, which he used to help ease the way. 

Richard’s mouth watered as he watched Dean’s hand slide over his slick cock, pre-come already glistening on the swollen glans. Dean was good with his hands, fingers strong and nimble from years of carefully controlling brushstrokes over canvas. Richard knew from experience what that control felt like on his own cock, and it took his breath away to watch Dean pleasure himself with those talented fingers. Suddenly far too hot, he tore his shirt over his head and cast it carelessly to the side. He scooted up the bed and gently grasped Dean’s ankles, slightly spreading his legs so he could kneel between them for a closer look.

Dean used his better judgment and hid his grin. He knew that when Richard didn’t take the time to fold his clothing, he was lost to his passion. Dean loved having that effect on the normally unflappable brunet. He bit his lip as his hips unconsciously leapt in Richard’s direction. “I’m thinking about Thorin,” Dean told him. “About you being Thorin and putting your hands on me.” He quickened the pace of his stroking. 

“What I really want is,” Dean lay a head back on the pillows and raised his other hand to his mouth, sucking two fingers deliberately into the orifice and coating them generously with saliva. He withdrew them with a slow, seductive slurp, then began moving the hand to the juncture of his legs.

Thorin growled; Richard had completely taken a backseat to the proceedings at Dean’s breathy confession. His hand shot out and caught Dean’s wrist in an iron grip, stilling his downward progress. Crawling over the blond until they were nose to nose, he pinned the arm above Dean’s head. Thorin ghosted his lips over Dean’s, millimeters separating them, moving away every time Dean arched up for a kiss. They were close enough that every pass of Dean’s hand over his cock brushed against Thorin’s jeans-clad erection.

“Maybe,” he whispered against Dean’s mouth. “If you’re very, very good.”

He relinquished his grip and kissed his way down Dean’s torso, pausing to swirl his tongue around a peaked nipple. When he finally reached Dean’s groin, he batted Dean’s hand away and replaced it with his own.

“Don’t come,” he said sternly before swallowing him down.

Dean gasped in pleasure, one hand gripping the pillow above his head and the other a handful of comforter at his side. He’d been seconds from going over the edge when Thorin gobbled him down; now he had to do everything in his power to stave it off. He tried to think about something totally non-sexy: Bombur’s fat suit, the smell of Nesbitt’s socks…

But his hips betrayed him and he cried out, the hand at his side coming up to curl insistently in Richard’s short hair.

Salt burst on Thorin’s taste buds and he gripped the base of Dean’s cock tightly to halt his orgasm, pulling off with a wet pop. He licked a pearl of liquid off the tip and felt the length twitch in his hand. 

“Should I stop?” Thorin forced his tone to be casual, but it was growing more difficult to ignore his own throbbing need. He needed to come almost as badly as Dean did.

“God, Thorin, no!” Dean cried, desperately. “Please, don’t stop… don’t stop…” Dean begged him, pelvis tilting towards its goal. Dean bit his lip when he realized he’d called his boyfriend _Thorin._

“Since you beg so prettily, _âzyungâl._ ” Something dark and possessive uncurled in Thorin’s chest, hearing Dean call out his name. He knew there was lube in the nightstand, but he had a better idea. Pressing three fingers against Dean’s lips, he gave his next command: “Suck.”

Dean’s mouth had nearly gone dry at Richard’s use of Khuzdul and he had to struggle to start salivating again. Thankfully, having Richard’s insistent fingers on his tongue seemed to do the trick. He laved the digits liberally, groaning at the overlapping sensation of fullness, helplessness and horniness.

Unable to resist, Thorin thrust his fingers slowly in and out of Dean’s mouth, cock jerking in his underwear as Dean wet the digits with his tongue. When they were slick enough, he slid them out, replacing them with his tongue as he claimed Dean’s lips in a brief but bruising kiss. 

Kissing a trail over to his ear, he rumbled, “On your knees, O’Gorman. Grab the headboard and don’t. let. go.” He punctuated the last three syllables with slow, firm strokes to Dean’s prick.

Dean actually whined when Thorin stopped kissing him all too quickly. However, the brusque invitation to further the festivities set him in motion. His dick was so hard he could barely turn over, for fear of brushing it against the sheets and coming all over. But he hurriedly complied with Thorin’s orders, flushed pink at having his behind exposed to the King Under the Mountain.

As tempting as it was to just thrust his spit-slicked fingers into Dean in one go, Thorin managed to restrain himself. He didn’t want to cause his lover any pain. Knocking Dean’s thighs further apart with a knee, exposing his clenching, pink furl of muscle, Thorin rubbed wet fingertips firmly around the opening until it relaxed, sliding his middle finger inside and moving it slowly. It wasn’t long before Dean was ready for a second finger, but by this point Dean’s saliva had started to dry. Thorin was afraid it would soon become uncomfortable. 

Grinning wickedly to himself, he lowered his head and breathed over Dean’s stretched hole. 

“Remember: hands stay on the headboard,” was the only warning he gave before he lowered his mouth and licked between his fingers inside Dean’s hot channel.

The trailer’s walls were terribly thin, and Dean remembered this only after he let out a long, loud keen of pleasure. His knuckles turned white all too quickly as he gripped the headboard like a lifeline. He and Richard had been pretty vanilla thus far in their sexual escapades. Tonight, they’d tackled not only role-playing, but Richard was actually eating his ass.

 _Thorin,_ Dean self-corrected. Richard Armitage was far too prim and proper to… “Ah, god, Thorin!” Dean gasped, as one crooked finger found his sweet spot. “Thorin!”

Three fingers were busy stretching Dean open, Thorin's tongue sliding around them sloppily, occasionally slipping inside. He pulled away reluctantly when Dean yelled his name, sucking a bruise into the sensitive skin over Dean’s tailbone before he rose up.

“ _Mahal,_ Dean, you should see yourself like this.” Thorin withdrew his fingers, ignoring Dean’s cry of protest, and gripped the firm muscles of Dean’s backside, kneading them roughly. He ground his still-clothed erection against Dean’s ass. “Is this what you want?”

“Ungh,” Dean was having trouble forming words. His cock felt like a railroad spike. “Gods, yes,” he breathed. “Want you in me so bad,” he ground back against Thorin’s hardness, embarrassed by how slutty it made him appear. “Need you,” he implored. “Need you now.”

Thorin freed himself quickly, not even taking the time to lower his jeans, just pulling himself out. Licking his palm, he gave himself a few cursory strokes before pressing the blunt head of his cock against Dean’s opening. Slowly and steadily, he watched himself glide inside that welcoming heat. 

It took every ounce of his resolve, but he remained still, taking several deep breaths to calm himself. 

“Tell me how you want it. Slow?” Thorin withdrew a few inches at an agonizing pace before angling back in, sure to graze Dean’s prostate on each lazy thrust. He thought he probably knew the answer to that question, but he wanted to hear Dean say it.

“Pound me—hard,” Dean bit out. “I want to feel you for days,” he added, internal muscles squeezing Thorin’s cock. “Make me yours, Thorin.”

“You already are,” Thorin assured him, a harsh cry of pleasure tearing from his throat as he started snapping his hips into Dean at a pace that bordered on ferocious. He lost himself in the sensation, enjoying the sounds of pleasure the younger man was making beneath him.

Leaning over Dean’s back, he placed his hand over Dean’s on the headboard, lacing their fingers together and squeezing. He sunk blunt teeth into Dean’s shoulder to muffle his animalistic grunts.

Dean mewled and his hips juddered. “Please, Thorin, please,” he gasped between thrusts. “Can I come?”

Thorin groaned into Dean’s back at the request. His thrusts were becoming erratic. Knowing he was close as well, he decided that Dean had earned his release. A large hand closed around Dean’s erection, pumping him in counterpoint to the rhythm of Thorin’s hips.

“Come for me, _atamanel_.” His voice was impossibly lower, rough with lust. He licked a rivulet of sweat from Dean’s nape. “Scream my name.”

“Thorin,” it started as a hoarse, whispered chant after each scrape of cock across his sweet spot, but grew rapidly in volume as Richard’s hips snapped at a breakneck pace. “Thorinnnnn!” he cried, finally, shooting his load all over Richard’s unfortunate comforter. “Ah, god,” Dean breathed, arching into Thorin’s thrusts to encourage his release. “Richard… I love you,” he told him. “I love you.”

“Oh, _Christ,_ Dean!” Hearing his name had forced Richard back into himself, the game they were playing momentarily forgotten, and he came with a surprised jolt. His hips stilled as he ground deep inside Dean’s relaxed body, riding out the aftershocks. He melted over Dean’s back in an exhausted, sweaty heap.

Dean’s hands had been gripping the headboard so tenaciously that they were stiff. He flexed them experimentally, enjoying the warmth of Richard’s weight as he recovered. “That was… amazing,” Dean told him. “You were so commanding—so sexy,” he told the brunet. “I’m so lucky,” he added, feeling suddenly sheepish for having blurted out his declaration of love like that.

“Well, as long as you don’t expect it all the time,” Richard chuckled bashfully, “ _Jesus._ ” He rolled off onto the bed and pulled Dean with him so he could spoon in behind him, a strong arm wrapped around his waist. He brushed a kiss to Dean’s sweaty shoulder. 

“Did you mean that? What you said?” he asked softly.

Dean interlocked his fingers with Richard’s and he could feel his heart beating through the older man’s hand. “Yes, Richard. I meant it,” he told him. “I-I've felt that way for awhile now. And, if you don’t, I completely understand—”

Richard turned Dean quickly in his arms so that he could silence him with a chaste press of lips, so different from Thorin’s bruising, claiming kiss. He rose up on an elbow so that he could look down into Dean’s eyes, running his fingers through that soft hair.

“I love you too, Dean.” He smiled gently at his lover. "I'm glad you said something."

“You’re not just saying that because it’s polite?” Dean’s eyes were dark with concern. “Because I couldn’t be more serious about this,” Dean assured him. He reached up a hand to caress Richard’s face. “I need you like I need air, Richard Armitage.”

The corners of Richard’s eyes crinkled, a wide, happy smile splitting his lips. “And I, you, _atamanel_ ,” he intoned deeply, letting Thorin’s voice slip in for a brief, teasing moment. “I meant it Dean. Really. I love you.” He paused for a second, considering. "And Thorin's pretty fond of you too."

**Author's Note:**

> Rachel (A_bit_not_good_yeah) prompted bossy Richard giving somebody orders. We chose Gormitage, with a sprinkle of Thorin Oakenshield for good measure.
> 
> Khuzdul translations:  
> âzyungâl - lover  
> atamanel - breath of all breaths


End file.
